


The Queen of the Damned

by ventormenta (julads)



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: 1870s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Western, F/M, Wild West
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 18:11:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12487784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julads/pseuds/ventormenta
Summary: When the notorious outlaw, The Queen of the Damned, hits Texas, she and her companions find food and shelter at the Marris Stead.





	The Queen of the Damned

**Author's Note:**

> I really, really didn't need to write this considering all the other projects I ought to be working on (which I actually am totally working on, promise), _buuut_ I've been wanting to write some American frontier stuff basically forever and I've been desperate for more Sylvanas/Nathanos (in that order!!) since the beginning of _Legion_ , so yesterday when I came up with the idea of a Bandit Queen Sylvanas I had no choice but to run with it.
> 
> I'm sorry for all the stupid family OCs by the way, but they're really not important and used more to convey information about the plot/reveal things about Nathanos, so hopefully you can just kind of ignore them, lol.
> 
> Also, this is my first time writing these two, and I'm not sure how it turned out... I think Nathanos' voice could probably be harsher. I'd like to write some more of them though, maybe in this universe, because I can imagine them being an cool criminal duo à la Bonnie and Clyde. ♥

They wouldn’t shut up. They never did, but especially today. It was constant, incessant, stupid little birds chirping away.

Nathanos ate fast, watching the storm brew outside.

With her mouth full of food, Annalise said, “I heard she’s really dead. They shoot her, but she just stands back up again like nothin’ happened.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Corin said. “Outlaws _want_ you to believe that kind of stuff. They love crafting this kind of legendary status, where people both revere and fear them. I wouldn’t be surprised if they spread these rumors themselves.”

“How do _youuu_ know?” Annalise shot back. She was seven and annoying in that way seven-year-olds were.

“Because unlike you, _I_ have critical think—”

A steady knock, knock came on the front door. At first, nobody moved, not even the patriarch of the family at the head of the table. But when the knocks came again, same and steady as before, Old Man Marris got up to answer it.

The twins followed. Shannon, the eldest sister, craned her neck into the hallway to look. Nathanos pretended not to care.

“And where are the lot of you headed?” Nathanos heard the Old Man ask.

The reply was indiscernible, but it was a woman’s voice, low and clear, something compelling about it.

“Quite a way’s off, Houston,” the Old Man said.

Next came a moment where no one said anything – hesitation?

With a heavy sigh, the Old Man said, “Well, I can offer you the barn. Let’s go get your horses tied up, then you can join us for dinner.”

The stranger’s response was crystalline, weaving through space with an almost ethereal quality: “We are indebted to your kindness, sir.”

* * *

Few guests were had the Marris Stead, and fewer yet without invitation or forewarning. But Old Man Marris was a Christian man, with room in his heart for the weary and worn, so Mother had no choice but to make sure there was enough food for three more, and the older children had no choice but to drag some chairs in from the kitchen.

Annalise was singing: “It’s The Queen of the Damned! She’s here, she’s here!”

Mother whipped around, and with a rare ferocity, she hissed: “You stop that right now! I won’t have any more of this Queen business, you hear me?! I won’t have it!”

That shut the girl right up, and she sulked back into the dining room with her head down. A bit of thunder started up, only to die a moment later. Nathanos and his older sister made space for the kitchen chairs, putting them all together. They sat back down in silence.

It was sort of strange though, wasn’t it, a woman traveling through the middle of nowhere with two men? The details and timing were interesting too, The Queen of the Damned having allegedly freed two men from a jail north of Waco last week. Really interesting.

A minute or two later, the front door creaked open, and every eye shot towards it. The Old Man was speaking gregariously, leading the guests inside.

Something happened when Nathanos first saw her. He couldn’t look away, could barely even breathe. It was not her beauty, though she was very beautiful, with a lovely face and eyes so light they defied her. Nor was it her attire – men’s clothing, leather boots, the guise of a cowboy – nor even the commanding grace she exuded over the room. No, it was merely her glance that sliced him open, took him over, a smirk dancing on her lips as if to say, _“Salutations, boy.”_ _That_ was what injected him with a ferocious desperation to know her, to be close to her, a yearning that ran through his veins and became him.

All of the sudden, he was no longer himself.

His throat dry, he swallowed, and finally, it began to rain. The rain hit the windows hard and fast, robbing his eyes from her. Even so, he could still feel her gaze on his skin, cool and sharp, little pin pricks that took his breath away each time. _“Look at me,”_ they said, and he could not have resisted if he tried.

Her eyes bore into him as she drank from her glass. He yearned to lie at her feet, to do anything she asked of him. The compulsion was severe to the point of maddening, almost gnawing at him. Had he lost his mind? This was not him, he was not this, a sap falling in love at first sight (was that even what this was?). Disgusting, just disgusting. And for a woman in men’s clothing, no less. He squeezed his eyes shut, but even in the darkness, his heart still pounded.

The story she told was that her companions were her sons. It was a lie; Nathanos felt it before he knew it. He exchanged a glance with his older sister – did she believe it? Her eyes said no. Mother’s were too guarded to tell.

Yet for all that suspicion, the woman was polite, obviously raised well: “You have a lovely home,” she said. “Such high ceilings. Very regal.”

“And quite good when you’re pushing six-three!” the Old Man joked.

But a question burned in the room, unasked: if these three travelers were on their way to Houston, why had they gone so far off the road as to arrive here? Why didn’t they stay in town?

It was Mother who eventually had the nerve to allude to it: “We’re quite a ways from town,” she said. “It’s lucky you were able to find us.”

Ever so coolly, the woman replied, “Well, as I was telling your husband, we took a wrong turn, and the storm started kicking up before we could turn back. So, we took our chances and knocked on your door.” After a pause, she added, “And how fortunate we were that you turned out to be so kind. Welcoming us into your home, serving us such a delicious meal, offering us a place to sleep…” Again those eyes veered towards Nathanos, washing over him and pulling him under. “Now, what would you call that? Luck, or fate?”

Nathanos was certain he had not uttered his reply. Certain. And yet, the woman smiled at him in that knowing way, approbation brimming in her clear blue eyes, and Nathanos Marris, seventeen and bored and lonelier than even he knew, could do nothing but sit there and soak up every last drop of her approval.

* * *

A fight erupted as soon as the guests had retired to the barn. For once, Mother didn’t back down to the Old Man, and the children were picking sides on the matter: was she, or was she not, The Queen of the Damned, the outlaw who ravaged the southwest freeing men from jail? Points were made on both sides; Mother was upset, nearly shrieking that the Old Man had brought convicts into the house; and Corin was playing Devil’s advocate, as he did. It was a bore, noisy and obnoxious, but most of all, irrelevant.

Outside, it was still storming, rain pummeling the barn, its outline barely visible in the darkness. She was in there with them. One woman and two men. Criminal men. He didn’t like it.

No one noticed him slip into the kitchen and take a knife. No one saw him leave, either. They were all still arguing.

He stuck the knife in his back pocket, the handle covered by his jacket, and ran through the rain, getting soaked in a matter of seconds. Wonderful.

Outside the barn door, he stopped and listened, but the storm made it impossible to hear anything. When he peeked inside, he saw the tiny yellow glow of a kerosene lamp, eclipsed by shadows in human form. His heart burned and ached at the same time. He wasn’t nervous; it was just the physical exertion of running. He wasn’t jealous; he was just worried about having to use the knife.

Reminding himself that this was his home, he found the courage to go inside. The guests were deep inside the barn, at the foot of a mountain of hay, sitting in a little circle around the lamp. Only when Nathanos got closer was his presence noticed, the storm having subsumed the sound of his boots.

“Shit!” the man facing forward suddenly said.

His two companions turned around immediately, the light briefly illuminating the woman’s blond hair.

Nathanos stood there, drenched and uncertain, trying to find the words, any words. What eventually came out was: “I… came to see if you needed anything.”

To that, the frightened man spat, “Not to scare us, for one thing.”

“Hush,” the woman said to him. Then, she directed her attention back to Nathanos. “We’re fine, but thank you for your concern,” she said. “Would you like to join us? We’re playing Hearts.”

If he said yes, he could keep an eye on them, intervene if anything went wrong. They were drinking, after all – a bottle of whisky was apparently making its rounds. It was a matter of safety, him staying here. And her eyes, those eyes: he could see she wanted him to stay, and that was the truly terrifying part.

“I have to get back,” he heard himself saying.

“I see,” she said, and he thought he heard disappointment in her voice, but he was probably just imagining it.

Before he left, he took another look at her male companions and told himself they wouldn’t hurt her. They were her sons, after all.

That was also the version that won out at the Marris Stead. The Old Man, the head of the household, always came out on top. And as much as Nathanos didn’t like Mother – his stepmother – he often pitied her for her constant vanquishment.

Not tonight though. Tonight it was true that Mother and the girls were accusing perfectly good people of crimes they didn’t commit, all because of their overactive imaginations. _“A man is innocent until proven guilty,”_ the Old Man had repeated again and again, and for all intents and purposes, the blonde stranger was as male as her sons.

* * *

There was no view of the barn from the window of the room Nathanos shared with his brother, but as he lay in bed that night, he could imagine her in there, dozing in the hay, her hair falling into her face. He should have brought pillows and blankets for her – for them. Not a fucking _knife_.

Damn it. God damn it.

“Are you still awake?” Corin murmured in the darkness.

“No,” Nathanos said.

“That woman kept looking at you, you know. All throughout dinner. Did you see her?”

“No,” Nathanos said.

“It was really weird.”

“It’s a good thing I didn’t notice then.”

Huffing, Corin said, “Are you _sure_ you didn’t notice?”

“Yes,” Nathanos grunted. “Now go to sleep.”

“I have another question,” Corin quietly said.

“Too bad.”

“Please?”

Nathanos relented: “Fine. What is it?”

“Do _you_ think she’s The Queen of the Damned?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think.”

“I’m just curious,” Corin said.

“Too bad.”

“So you aren’t going to tell me?” he said.

“No.”

“Fine, then,” Corin said, turning over so his back was to Nathanos. Then, whispering, he muttered, “Meanie.”

They all said that of him, and he supposed it was true, at least in part. But they never left him alone. They never shut up, never stopped pestering him, day in and day out. Out on the range, he got some peace at the cost of his labor, paid in three meals a day and a roof over his head. It didn’t matter whether he had asked for it or not. This was the way things were now.

* * *

What woke him up was someone caressing his face. It was a cool hand, one he didn’t know but felt comforted by nonetheless, and for a while, he just let himself be touched.

“Nathanos,” came that haunting voice, “Nathanos.”

When he opened his eyes, he saw her silhouette in the darkness, standing at his bedside.

In his bleariness, he struggled to string the words together: “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I want you,” she simply said, running her fingers through his hair.

“Why?”

After a beat, she replied, “I don’t know that I’d tell you even if I had a reason.”

“I don’t understand,” Nathanos said.

“That’s fine.”

A few moments passed, this strange woman silently touching his face while the rain carried on outside, far weaker now. Nathanos found himself leaning into her touch, aching for more, which she gave him: she climbed onto the bed, straddling him, and then leaned down to kiss him. It was a long and hard kiss, strong too – not the way a woman should kiss, but the way he wanted one to kiss him: like she meant it, like she wanted him.

Her hands were on him too, without restraint: holding him down by the shoulder, cradling his head, feeling him in shocking, indecent places. A part of his brain was erupting, telling him this was wrong, but that voice was drowned out by everything else, in all its intensity. Lying on top of him, she moved to a mysterious rhythm, dragging him along with her and whispering the destination in his ear. It was too much to bear and such a struggle to keep quiet – his brother was sleeping just over there for God’s sake, and here was this woman, suddenly engulfing him within her, swallowing up his moans and letting them empower her.

There was nothing he could do to stop himself from releasing inside of her. Afterwards, he tried to apologize, but when he opened his eyes, he realized the rain had stopped and that he was alone.

* * *

A few sleepless hours later, dawn was blossoming over the ranch, and Nathanos was on the way to the barn alone, the Old Man still wolfing down sausage and eggs. Yet as he approached, he caught a whiff of a strange odor: tobacco smoke.

The source should not have surprised him. It was the woman, leaning against the side of the barn and smoking a pipe.

The surprise in her eyes quickly shifted to something else, and she regarded him intently, saying with haughty delight, “Why, good morning.”

He scowled – maybe it was embarrassment due to the dream, maybe discomfort with her defiance.

“Morning,” he muttered in response, and though he knew he should walk away, his boots felt stuck in the mud.

A little smirk grew at the corner of her lips, her tired eyes lighting up. “It must be hard,” she said.

“What?” he said, much too harshly.

One of her eyebrows shot up. “Waking up this early every day.”

Shrugging, Nathanos said, “You get used to it.”

“Mmm.”

“You’re up now too,” he pointed out.

With a wistfulness that seemed inauthentic, she replied, “I woke up from a dream and couldn’t fall back asleep.”

He paused, just staring at her. Was it a coincidence, or did she somehow know? Was she mocking him?

“Is that so?” he said with feigned disinterest.

“It is,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter. I can sleep when I’m dead.”

“They say you _are_ dead.”

For the first time, she laughed, a laugh of real amusement, her teeth showing and face aglow, sincere and beautiful. It devastated him.

“Is that what they’re saying about me now?” she said.

Looking away, Nathanos said, “Yeah, I guess.”

“That’s a good one.”

The silence that followed was unbearably awkward – for him, at least. She was simply studying him, all the cards in her hand.

“I have to get to work,” he muttered.

It was brutal, having to drag himself away from her, demanding every ounce of his willpower. Thus, when she took his arm and stopped him, his heart did indeed flutter, soaring now instead of beating.

Staring at him with those huge aquamarine eyes, she said, “Come with me.”

“What?”

“Come with me,” she repeated, still holding his arm. “Leave this place.”

His eyes were locked on hers, squinting in confusion, searching for explanation. “You want me to go with you? Why?”

With that, she let him go, and he couldn’t help but feel like he’d made some sort of mistake. She went back to leaning up against the barn, smoking away, not looking at him.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “What do you want _me_ for?”

Her voice came through dreary and vague, like fog: “I couldn’t tell you.”

A ways away, the kitchen door creaked open, and the Old Man’s plodding footsteps could be heard trudging across the back porch, carrying with them the obligation of another day’s work. Yet here, in this dissipating moment, this woman whose name he didn’t even know was asking him for something his heart yearned to oblige, fighting as it was against the burdens of circumstance, which were as sturdy as a bull-strong fence, deep as the love for his hounds, and real as his father’s voice calling his name.

In the end, he didn’t even give her an answer. Then when Nathanos and the crew came back for lunch, she and her men were gone, and regret never weighed so heavy on Nathanos’ heart. There was no sign that The Queen of the Damned and her condemned had ever even been here. He had let her down, and for what? To wake up at dawn every morning, break his back for a dream that wasn’t his, a life he didn’t want, a family he resented?

It was stupid. He was a fool. That was plain now.

He ate quickly, too fast even. No one commented, and no one noticed when he slipped away, running upstairs to change into a fresh shirt and pants, pulling his boots back up over them. Besides his .45, there was nothing else he wanted to bring with him, and that alone was telling: throughout his whole life, he’d never acquired any trinket or memento that meant anything to him. All that was left was his older sister, his only full sibling, and the poor hounds, whom he’d raised since they were eight weeks old.

His sister got a note in his underused scrawl, folded up and hidden under her pillow, which said, _“I’ll miss you,”_ and nothing more.

The hounds, resting in the shade of their favorite tree in the backyard, got hugs and kisses on the head, maybe even tears that vanished into black hair. He told them to be good, to work hard, and as he walked away, he left a part of his heart with them.

The horse he took wasn’t his favorite, but it was the strongest. The Old Man would be mad enough to bite himself over it, and as Nathanos shot down the dusty road, out of the ranch, he might’ve even heard him shouting after him, but he didn’t look back to check.

Before him, the world was wide open, the sky blue, hot, and clear, and the road stretching out as far as he could see. She was out there somewhere, riding through the gnarled plains, camping out beneath the twisted trees, shaping the land with her own brand of justice. Wherever she was, he would find her, and wherever she went, he would follow. Whether to the very edge of this wild world or the very depths of Hell, he would be there by her side, in eternal servitude to The Queen of the Damned.


End file.
